Mortified Mine
by Eat a Taco
Summary: Liz Hooper: a foul-mouthed liberal arts student home for the summer with two tattoos and a drinking problem. Sebastian McCail? Not her cup of tea. Maybe he'd improve with a taste of vodka in him...
1. The Hellhole Sabbatical

Mortified Mine

**A/N:** _Well, it's good to be back, isn't it? I know, I know, it's been a while, and I'm sure that everyone I ever talked to is long gone at this point. But this idea won't leave me alone, I need to stretch my writing muscles, and I might as well share it with the world, right?_

Chapter One: The Hellhole Sabbatical

Alice thinks her nose ring is infected.

"I'm sure it's fine," I coo into the phone, even though I know for sure that it's not fine. I steal a passing glance into the mirror at my own diamond stud, happy that I shelled out the cash to go to a professional tattoo and piercing

"It's _definitely_ not fine."

"Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" Five minutes home and my room is absolutely trashed. Of course, it's not _my_ fault that my favorite cropped jacket has gone M.I.A and the chances that either Katie or Lynn has stolen it are spiraling upwards by the minute. Of course, this doesn't change the fact that when June gets home tomorrow she's going to go into anaphylactic shock at the sight of the place.

"Comfort me! Come save me from this place!" Much like me, Alice is from a hellhole with a bat-shit family and absolutely no social stimulation. When you have a home life like mine, college isn't "second home." College _is _home, and summers are just unfair sabbaticals to remind us that life can never be dandy for extended periods of time. Unless we're talking the Golden Age of the Athenian Empire, and then pretty much anything is possible.

My prospective English and History majors assure me that no, really, nothing can be dandy for extended periods of time. Once college is over, I'm even more screwed than I am when it comes to enduring the summers.

"My dye job is fading."

"Ugh, Liz. I've gotten so used to our life together that I was just about to say, 'Yeah, don't worry about it, we can just do it again this afternoon.'"

"This is tragic."

"I know."

I suppose I'm making this out to be much worse than it actually is, but when the circle of people that you can stand dwindles from an entire campus of people to about six, on a good day, coming home can be slightly disappointing. Plus, I'm not going to play Positive Patty whilst talking to my ex-roommate about the end of our year. What kind of an impression would that give?

Also, if I ever started to play the role of Positive Patty I'm pretty sure all of my immediate acquaintances would die from the shock. Positive Patty (which I'm not even entirely sure if it's a thing) is more up my sister's alley. She's the pretty one, the nice one. I'm the harsh one with the attitude problem, but I suppose we balance each other out quite nicely. June has been my best friend since the beginning of time, for obvious reasons, and it's hard to deal with life without her. That's the one thing I'm looking forward to this summer, I suppose. Even though I'd call June twice a week, it's really not the same thing at all.

Hanging up on Alice with the excuse that I need to go yell at Lynn for stealing my favorite jacket, I flop down on my bed to stare at the ceiling. Faded green stars are stuck to the ceiling from the ill-fated fourth grade attempt of June and I (okay, mostly me) to recreate the solar system to gaze into every night before we fell asleep. I finger at my hair, admiring my split ends and the way my dark red lowlights are seeping away to reveal my natural blonde, feeling, just for a moment, like I've reached a calmness. Like maybe I am home.

"Elizabeth. Marie. Hooper!"

My mother's dulcet tones fly up the stairs like bullets and I roll over onto my stomach and suppress a groan. Ah, but no. _Now_ I'm home.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? I see a _car_ in the driveway and _bags_ all over the front hall, and perhaps we're being robbed, perhaps we have company, and I have _nothing_ to entertain or welcome them, and then Katie comes and tells me it's _you,_ and you didn't even come—"

"I'm sorry, Ma. I just wanted to get unpa—"

"Couldn't even say hello to your own mother! I see how it is. And look at you, lazing about like you don't have anything to do with yourself. College bills aren't going to pay themselves you know, Liz! What is it; do you not love me anymore? What have we ever done to you to wrong you?"

I blink a few times, trying to keep up with the course of thought.

Eight months at a prestigious liberal arts school keeping up with rigorous political and philosophical debate outside of class as well as in, and I _still_ don't have any idea of what she's throwing at me. This means that she is either so super-intelligent that she should be working in a think tank with the likes of Stephen Hawking, or she is literally too stupid to string together actual sentences.

Judging by the fact that she barely made it out of high school and that her main occupation is now "trying to marry off her daughters in a pathetic attempt to re-grasp her youth", I'm going to go with the latter.

Meanwhile, she continues to prattle. "A phone call once a month, barely coming home for holidays, it's not like I'm expecting to see you around the house over the summer; it's as if I don't _know_ you anymore, as if you don't _like _us!"

There's no use defending myself, either, because a) there's no stopping her once she's on a roll like this, she's like a steamroller, b) even if I do somehow manage to stop her, she'll pile all this resentment onto June instead, and she would _not_ be able to take it, and c) it's not like what she's saying isn't true.

It's not that I don't love my family. I really do. It's just—

"Liz!" Katie bursts into the room, yelling my name so loudly that she shocks Mum into silence for about thirty seconds. Immediately, I solve the mystery of the missing jacket, as Katie's wearing it unabashedly as if she doesn't even remember that it's mine.

Well, to be fair here, she probably doesn't. "Liz, _tell_ Lynn that when you left for college, you said that _I_ was in charge of your closet and no one else could use your stuff without your permission!"

"I—"

"And your poor sisters—" Mom continues, getting back into drone mode.

"You never said that!" And Lynn bursts in; her arms full of clothes while she's half naked with her hair bleached one of the worst shades of platinum blonde I've ever had to endure looking at. "You _never_ said that! Katie's lying, _as usual,_ and—"

"I'm not a liar!"

"Yes you are!"

"Missing all sorts of things, and all I can think about is if you're dead or diseased or getting rape at this very moment at an awful party, all while you're getting a degree that's going to launch you into an unforgiving world that's not going to get you a job, and you're not even _trying_ to find yourself a husband, and—"

"Have not!"

"You did that last March!"

"How do you know what I did last March?"

"Because you _told_ me, you slutwit, and because I'm older I think obviously—"

"Blah blah blah, you're older, stop acting like that's some big accomplishment, Kate, no one honestly cares if you have one more year of life under your belt, it's not like you have anything to show for it—"

Katie, screaming something now unintelligible, rips a white silky top (mine), a necklace (definitely mine), and a pair of shoes (June's) out of Lynn's hands and storms from the room, their yells echoing throughout the house and Lynn chases her down the stairs. Then, more far off, I hear Carrie's voice join the fray: "WILL THE TWO OF YOU SHUT UP? I'M TRYING TO PRACTICE FOR THE STATEWI—"

"OH, NO ONE CARES ABOUT BEETHOVEN'S SIXTEENTH, OR WHATEVER IT IS, LEAVE US ALONE!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" And there's the sound of a slamming door to accompany it.

Mother has exhausted herself with her lecture, thank God, though I can't believe that she actually thought she'd be able to make herself heard over the dulcet tones of Lynn and Katie. Not that I'm complaining, but she could have conserved some energy if she had just shut up to let them have the floor when they were in the room.

The stairs creak, and my mom and I both look over to the doorway to see what else the house has in store for us. Whoever it is, Mum is severely displeased and leaves the room with an overdramatic sigh. Taking this as the sign that it could only be one person, I rush out after her to greet my father.

His hair is almost completely gray now, and his look of perpetual tiredness has at least tripled from last year when he had to live in the house without June. I hug him tightly, and he pats me absently on the head. "I'm glad you've come home, Elizabeth."

"I'm glad you're here to greet me," I reply, and he chuckles fondly, his eyes crinkling up with his smile.

"You've grown up."

"Just a little." Just a little drugs, alcohol, deflowering, political protests, imprisonment, casual sex, serious sex, etc. Nothing to worry about. Just a little growing up.

"You just missed Charlotte; she must have left within ten minutes of you getting home. She was hoping to be here to greet you."

"Oh, that's a shame, I've missed Charlotte." This is only partially true. Whilst at school, I didn't have much time to miss Charlotte. It's a sad truth. But now that I'm home, surrounded by the antics of my mother, Katie, Lynn, and Carrie for about a quarter of an hour, I miss Charlotte _plenty._ Even though she's two years younger than I am, she has more sense than everyone else in this house put together, except perhaps excluding my father—but that's a big 'perhaps.' Just because he's the most sensible person in the house doesn't necessarily imply that he's the most sensible person anywhere else. He's kind of socially retarded, my dad, which I don't blame him for when he's living in a house like this, but when a man spends 90% of his time locked up in a study reading books and working, then you have to acknowledge that maybe there is some kind of a small mental problem.

Katie and Lynn's voices echo back up the stairs, and dad expresses his joy by rolling his eyes to the heavens. "They're thinking about having a party for you, you know," he says, "The Wallaces."

I wrinkle my nose. "Gurgh," I say, "parties." In truth, I'm not opposed to parties as much as I'm opposed to what small town suburban America considers to be parties. AKA, mingling in lawns and living rooms and calling it social.

"You have another one to deal with, too, I'm afraid. Tomorrow, after June gets home."

"Why?"

"It's the annual thing, a barbeque, you know how it is. Supposed to be some sort of a welcome, though, there's new fodder moving into Netherfield Place for your mother to faun over."

"So she'll force us to go."

Dad taps me fondly on the head, messing up my bangs in a way that's not allowed to annoy me, as his daughter. "No," he smirks, "she'll force _you_ to go."

"Dad!" But he just wanders further down the hall to his bedroom, inevitably to get another book to consume his time instead of having to spend it with the family. I turn and return to my room, deciding that it's time to put everything back in its proper spot so June has something welcome to return to. She'll be Mom's big prize at tomorrow's party, surely, because she's The Gorgeous One and Netherfield is home of the Ridiculously Rich. In other words, Netherfield is named such because it tickles my mother's nether regions, especially when her only joy is setting her daughters up on dates that are doomed to fail. Her life will be complete the moment she marries us off to rich boys, honestly. The sooner the better, too. The less education we get, the less she has to pay for.

I considered going to an all-women's school just to spite her, but chickened out at the last moment because the amount of casual sex I would have had at an all-girl's school would be _far_ inferior to the flings and hook-ups I'm having now, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Actually, I suppose technically 'now' is 'when I was at school.' Now I'm home and my hook up prospects have dropped to the unfortunate level of "zero", unless this Nether-kid turns out to be actually attractive (not likely) and attracted to me (even less likely).

I miss Tom and Sam and whatever that foreign exchange student's name was. They were constants in my life. Tom wasn't a very attractive constant, but still a constant, and he would at least buy me coffee whenever I woke up in his dorm room.

Of course, I had to resolve against talking to Tom ever again because I ended up using my sexual prowess for evil instead of good, so to speak, and that's never a good place to end up.

The sound of Katie and Lynn's yells flare up again ("THOSE SHOES ARE MINE!" "I BOUGHT THEM WITH JANE LAST DECEMBER, YOU LIAR!" "AS IF! YOU DON'T HAVE THAT KIND OF TASTE!" "THEY'RE _MINE!"_ "MOTHER!"), and I firmly shut my door and crank my music to a level that makes my house remotely tolerable. I close my eyes, picture my dorm room, and open my phone to send a quick text to Alice.

Ah, it's good to be home.

* * *

><p><em>I know, I know, but things are just getting started. Read on, fools, for next chapter we get a taste of Darcy, Bingley, Caroline, and June. And, as always, please send a review my way to let me know what you think.<em>


	2. Signs of Discomfort

Chapter Two: Signs of Discomfort

June still has a smear of blue paint on her ankle, but I think it's endearing so I don't let her know. She arrived home today at ten o'clock (I was still sleeping) laden with about 30,000 paintings and six dresses, one for everyone. Leave it to June, she didn't even say anything about it.

I'm wearing mine now, and despite the fact that June didn't account for the growth spurt I told her about at least six times (and about time, too, I thought I would be stuck at 5' 1" all my life until I shot up three inches this year as if some sort of Miracle Grow had been spread all over my dorm room), I feel better dressed than I ever would have managed on my own.

Enduring only twenty-four hours in the house was torture, and her appearance has made me so happy to see her that I don't want to leave her side, ever, at all. It's a miracle that my father survived all year without the both of us, I barely managed my senior year and I had the ability to escape to Charlotte's or Becca's or Dan's whenever I wanted to (often). As much as I love college, June is the best sister I have and she loves me unconditionally despite my shenanigans, which is something that I cannot say about anybody else.

"Charlotte!" She's across the yard, but the moment she looks in my direction her eyes light up and I feel awful about not even bothering to call her yesterday. It must have been just as much of a hellhole here for her as it was for my father. Shunning all dignity, she runs towards June and I, and I accept her enormous hug as she jumps into my arms.

"I missed you so much!" We say simultaneously. She drops out of my arms and reaches over and hugs June, who taps her comfortingly on the back. "You got so tall!" I laugh, shaking my head.

"That's relative." I see a full glass of champagne on a tray left out by a neglectful waiter and grab it to sip.

"It's also the only thing that saved you from the Freshman 15," June quips, but she smiles so innocently after it that I can't even feign anger. She is quite possibly the sweetest person that has ever walked the Earth.

"Psh, I'm fit as fuck," I say, flexing my non-existent arm muscle. Across the lawn, a pair of over-40s cast a disdainful glance in my direction as if I am an unseemly blemish on the Earth. Of course, the posh attitude reminds me of why, exactly, we're here – "so where's the new Nether-bait for my mother to squeal over? I'd love to get a glimpse of my new marriage partner," I say, scanning the crowd as if I'll be able to distinguish who's new and who just got a haircut since I last saw them. "Or, more accurately, June's new marriage partner."

"Liz," she chides, but I don't even bother to listen to her, because if she hadn't been standing here talking to Charlotte and I, she would have been bombarded by one of the eight boys and counting that I've already seen ogling her.

Honestly, it's a miracle that June's still single. The only real explanation for it is that when it comes to males at art schools, they are 1) very sparse, and 2) gay.

"Ooh, fun," Charlotte says, sticking her tongue between her teeth as she clasps her hands together in a caricature of my mother. "Come on, I think they're inside. We met Charlie and his sister last night, he's adorable."

"And his sister?"

"Well, he has two, but the other one's off in, I don't know, Paris or something, getting engaged." She says this completely nonchalantly as we walk across the lawn and towards the big double doors of the function hall, thrown open to make the party more 'fluid', as my mother would say.

"She's what?"

"Oh, yeah," she says conversationally, and I drop my now empty champagne glass onto another abandoned tray. I search around for another one, and wish that Charlotte could take a brief detour so we could pass closer to the waiter. Maybe I could work up a decent buzz and this party would actually start getting interesting. "Don't worry, it's not a loss or anything. The boyfriend's old and on the fat side and she sounds like she has a real troll personality, so they probably deserve each other. He has tons of money, obviously… hell, I would do it."

"No you wouldn't, Charlie, come on."

"No, I totally would! I mean, why not?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes and shake her. She has one more year here, and she's getting really impatient when it comes to males… and people in general. I suppose if you get used to spending all your time with people you hate; it doesn't seem that bad to have to be living with one if you're at least loaded. Of course, I still have hope that once Charlotte's off at college and actually happy, she'll drop this ridiculous notion that having a boyfriend is a societal staple and it doesn't matter who he is, as long as she has one.

"Um, let's see," I say with a mocking air, "because you're dooming yourself to a life of misery with an ornery and ugly marriage partner?"

"Oh, hush. I really don't think it'd be that bad."

"That's where you and I differ, my friend," I say, and I grab another glass of champagne for myself off the tray of a passing waiter. This is good. Ten minutes haven't even passed and I'm on my second alcoholic unit. I might start having fun. "He'd have to be Steve Jobs, or something, before I go and marry for money. Or _date_ someone for money."

Charlotte just shrugs, and we enter the high-ceilinged function hall silently, Charlotte scanning the crowd. "There they are," she says, pointing blatantly towards the front of the room. "The Carvells are the ones moving in—Pat's the blonde, and the girl with streaks in her hair is Claire."

"Okay," I say, noting that there is a third companion Charlotte hadn't mentioned, "first of all, Pat is definitely more ginger than he is blonde, you just know that I hate gingers so you—"

"He's way more blonde." She sticks her tongue out at me, and I raise my eyes to the ceiling.

"Okay, whatever. Who's the other guy?" He's slightly taller than Pat Carvell, with dark hair that has absolutely no traces of ginger in it whatsoever. He may actually be hook up material, and I may not be sexually starved over the summer, if he turns out to be interesting.

"That's his friend Seb McCail. He—"

"Seb?" June asks.

"Short for Sebastian," Charlotte explains quickly, "apparently they've known each other since high school and decided to go to college together. And, get this, Liz, he's _Steve Jobs_ rich."

"Ooh la la, Steve Jobs rich," I say, pretending to fan myself. "I don't know, Charlotte. He doesn't seem to be talking much."

"Maybe he's the quiet type."

I'm not exactly into 'the quiet type.' More often than not the quiet type is quiet because he's stupid and can't think of anything to say as opposed to being mysterious and deep and tortured and intelligent. Those types only exist in books, and let's be honest here, said books aren't even that well-written.

"Maybe you find him more attractive because he's Steve Jobs rich."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" And we both smile widely at each other, Charlotte beaming with such force that I'm hit with another pang of guilt about the fact that I did such a bad job keeping in touch. "Well, want me to introduce you?"

"Oh God, yes, please, if Mom did it I'm sure her ovaries would explode mid-introduction and all would go to Hell." June looks like she's about to disapprove, but I shake my head. "Don't say anything, you know it's true." Thankfully, Mom's too busy making the rounds to notice us, otherwise June and I would be the center of Mrs. Hooper's Social Destruction 2011. And there's no way I'm going to say that this won't happen.

At the present moment, thankfully, she's taken to parading Lynnie around like she's some sort of prize with her concave stomach and awful fashion sense. Not that I'm complaining. Ever since June decided on Art school and I went the liberal arts road, mother has been a lot less keen on us because she thinks we're going to be jobless and husbandless when we leave college. Which is true, sure, but at least we're happy.

Lynn, at least, is currently on the road to husband-hunting, following almost exactly in good ol' Mum's footsteps. On the varsity cheer squad and only a sophomore. Does wonders for Katie's self-esteem, who still made J-V even though she'll be a junior, but no one seems to care. Katie almost even looks _up_ to Lynne, I think , which almost makes me throw up in my mouth. Somehow I suppress.

As for Carrie, God knows what will happen to her. She's supposed to have started the college search and she just… hasn't. She never was very independent, even though she tries so hard to pretend to be.

From the front of the room, Patrick Carvell has noticed us approaching. He waves to Charlotte and smiles widely, and I can already tell that he's the type who has never had to worry about anything in his entire life, and won't understand it when other people do. My college is filled with them, beaming boys whose pockets are so full of money that they don't need to fill anything else, let alone their minds. Although I'm sure they wouldn't mind filling vaginas, at the expense of being vulgar.

"Hello Charlotte," he says, his eyes darting from her to me to June, where he rests his gaze. Naturally. However, his voice is so genuine and kind that I have to temporarily take back the 'vagina' comment. He's probably a tad better than that. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," and she gestures swiftly to June and I. "I just wanted to introduce you to some friends of mine."

"I'd be delighted."

Behind him, Sebastian McCail shifts his weight from one foot to another and the Carvell sister – Clarissa? – reaches up and whispers something in his ear that he doesn't react to.

Cute couple.

"This is Liz, my best friend here who made my life bearable before she ran off to college," and I smile just a little as more guilty feelings wash over me and I promise to be absolutely doting of Charlotte for the rest of the summer, if not longer. "And this is her sister, June. I think she's your age."

Pat nods to each of us and shakes our hands, but of course his attention has already turning in favor of June, everyone's favorite blonde beauty, despite the fact that Charlotte introduced me as her One and Only Savior, essentially. "It's a pleasure to meet you." It's not that I mind. It's just that June has an enormous propensity to get herself hurt by charming boys who she think she's in love with, and I hate to see her hurt.

Finally, Pat decides that he's devoted enough time to eye-flirting with June to introduce us to his two companions. "This is my younger sister, Claire, she'll be a senior once school starts," he says, and I snort to think of her in some classes with Carrie. Sebastian's eyes fly to mine with my laugh, which surprises me, because I thought I had kept it indiscreet. "And this is my friend Seb, he's just here with us for the summer. We've been in school together since middle school, he's a great guy."

"Thank you, Pat," is all he says, and he looks away from me to scan the room again.

"I'm pretty much just one of the boys," Claire adds with a weird giggle, her eyes glancing up at Seb before coming back down to look at us. "Girls can be so…_ augh_ sometimes, you know?"

No, I don't know, seeing as you, yourself, are a girl. However, I restrain myself and limit my critique to rolling my eyes and saying, "I'd assume so."

And that's all the agreement she needs. "Yeah, well, you know. I'm more of a video game girl. And I love sports. And I'm not afraid to talk dirty or whatever, but I'm just not interested in clothes or fashion or gossip or, whatever."

'Whatever.'

She keeps glancing at Sebastian, as if to check to see if he's listening, but he's not at all interested. Pat, who has been talking in an undertone to June for the duration of Claire's self-promotion, leads her away to the dance floor. Seeing as I have no real desire to continue my acquaintance with Claire the self-proclaimed "girl-hater" (whatever that is, _honestly,_ have people not heard of feminism?) or Seb the Surly Wallflower, I say a quick, "actually I prefer books" before grabbing Charlotte and high tailing it to the dance floor myself.

(+)

Several hours later, with June and Pat taking a brief break from their dancing which looks like it's going to last all night and my mother in the corner loudly espousing how happy she is that they've "hit it off so well" and have "such nice beginnings to a relationship" and other bullshit, I lean up against the wall by the slowly diminishing food table. Dinner was put out an hour ago and has already been halfway demolished, and I wonder briefly who pays for the annual dinner. Whoever throws this party probably shits rainbows in my mother's eyes, but unless they're some sort of Fezziwig who takes joy out of entertaining all the terribly boring townies of suburban America (not likely), all their attempts at neighborhood notoriety are useless. I mean, come on, why bother?

"Come on, Seb, could you at least _try_ and enjoy yourself?"

I look up. Patrick Carvell is talking to his friend, Seb What's-His-Face, and somehow the sound is echoing off the ceiling and is traveling to me, clear as a bell. Obviously my overhearing it meant to be. I could move, sure, but I'm in such an ideal spot, especially if I'm suddenly hit by hunger, so why should I—

"Who says I'm not enjoying myself?"

Pat gives him a look much reminisce of myself, and I suddenly find myself liking him a lot more. "Don't act like I don't know you. You're just being miserable on purpose."

"Fine," McCail allows, "I'm not enjoying myself."

"Dance a little! Drink a little! Have fun!"

"I couldn't have fun here if I tried."

"You haven't tried." Okay, it's official. I approve of Patrick. He and June can go ahead and get married; I'll do the ceremony myself. Anyone who says 'Dance a little, drink a little,' to someone, even someone as repulsively boring as Seb McCail, is my kind of person. People like that deserve some kind of award, seriously. Why aren't there awards for people like us?

Seb sighs, looking genuinely irritated, and runs his hand over the stubble growing on his chin before responding. "Look, Claire's already dancing, I have no interest in anyone else, so go enjoy yourself while I just—"

"I'm not talking about Claire, you dunce," Pat says, looking just as irritated as Seb does, "if you liked her that way that would be disgusting, for one, and secondly, you don't, so it's not like you'd be really enjoying yourself. I mean—okay, like, look over there. There's June's sister. What about her?"

As quickly as I can, I try to make it look like I wasn't listening and become vastly interested in the potato salad. Look at those potato chunks! The way the dressing permeates the concoction so completely! The tiny onion slices to add flavor, to add color! The lettuce bits, the cool temperature to contrast the warm summer air! It's like art, it's like—

"I couldn't possibly," Sebastian says, and my heart plummets just from the shock of it. I mean, it's not like I was that interested – I reiterate my thoughts about the quiet type, despite the fact that his hair is delightfully luscious – but still, it's difficult to listen to yourself get stone-cold rejected. "If she was interesting at all other people would be dancing with her. I'm sure that June is just…" he pauses, adding an air of sarcasm to whatever descriptor he plans to use next, "the best person you've ever met. I'm sure, Pat. And she's very pretty. Have fun. Her sister is vulgar and rude and undereducated; she hardly seems to care about her appearance and her dress is a good three inches too short for her to be anyone of dignity."

In thirty seconds, Sebastian McCail has crossed the line from mildly rude to uproariously hilarious.

"Plus, she has the sexual attractiveness of a brick," he adds almost as an afterthought, icing on the cake, and he has crossed the line again from uproariously hilarious to COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE.

A brick? Seriously? A _brick?_

"Well, I'm sorry I brought her up," Pat says, glancing back at me, and we make eye contact for a split second before I remember myself and focus again on the snack table. Except this time, the potato salad is not interesting and I kind of want to hurl it across the room. God, damn it. God damn it! What right does he have to say that? "She seems perfectly fine to me, Seb, I'm sorry that she's apparently the most offensive girl ever to you."

"I find everyone here offensive," Seb says, and I suppose it makes me feel better, knowing that he hates _everyone._

As if, Jesus. I take back what I said about his being the quiet type. He isn't stupid beneath the surface, he's just a jackass. "You should know by now that I hate these kinds of things, Pat. Now just go enjoy yourself and let me be crotchety in my corner." And he pushes him back toward the center of the room. Pat turns, raising his hands in defeat towards his friend before returning to the center of the mass of dancing people. Among them I see Lynn, grinding with two boys at the same time, and I try to restrain myself from wrenching her off the both of them and slapping her until she grew some sense.

I spot June by the perpendicular wall talking to Charlotte, eating the potato salad I was marveling moments ago (Art you can eat! Consumable art! Does it get better?). I'm about to make a beeline for them when a better idea strikes me.

Instead, I walk towards Sebastian.

* * *

><p><em>Hope this chapter was a bit more intriguing, now that things have officially gotten started. As always, press that button and let me know what you think. It takes two seconds and it makes my day. :)<em>


	3. A Bitter Streak

Chapter Three: A Bitter Streak

Sebastian McCail is oblivious to my plan. His words still spinning in my head (sexual attractiveness of a _brick! A brick! Seriously!)_, I walk up behind his back with a deliberate battle plan. He has slender shoulders and is about a head taller than me, even with my growth spurt. His dark hair curls a bit at the back of his neck, and I barely conceal a smirk as I take one finger and drag it lightly across his lower back as I walk by. This is a fabulous trick Alice taught me during the first week of school, and it works like a charm. McCail is so sensitive to the area that he visibly jumps, and I let my amusement flower on my face as I trace my smile with my index finger.

"Sorry," I say, looking at him from under my eyes to completely imply that I'm not sorry at all, "didn't mean that."

Oh, the bitch. He's looking at me like a dog looks at raw steak.

I let our eyes stay locked for a few more seconds before whirling myself around on one heel, heading straight for Charlotte and June before I burst out laughing all alone in the middle of the room like some sort of madwoman.

"Hey guys," I say, my smile bubbling over

"Ah," says Charlotte, "is that was that was all about?"

"Yeah, geez, I was just wondering aloud what you could have done to him," June adds, glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, "but really, I didn't know that he would—"

"Why? Is he still staring?" I glance over in his direction, and immediately his head turns away from us and towards the dancing crowd. He shakes his head like an animal with water in its ears and I continue talking, thankful to have got the last laugh as he walks off to find Claire to talk to, or someone equally ludicrous.

"Oh, but that's awful!" June says, looking genuinely concerned, and for a second the initial pang I felt in my stomach upon hearing his comments returns. But I shake it away, pushing it off in favor of laughter, telling her that it's no loss as I pat her comfortingly on the arm.

"Plus, consider yourself lucky," Charlotte sips a beer as she talks, and I wonder a) where she got it, and b) when she started drinking. "If he liked you, you'd have to talk to him."

"True," I say, and we all start laughing as Pat comes up to whisk June away again to dance. For a moment, though, before he speaks, he looks at me, and I know exactly what's crossing his mind before he says it. "I hope you're not thinking about asking me to dance, Rick-o," I say, looking him in the eyes and wondering if he can tell that I know exactly what's going through his mind. I kind of doubt it, but he does let the joy show on his face when he realizes that I'm not going to force him to dance with me. "I haven't seen Charlotte in ages, you couldn't tear me away from her for anything."

Pat nods, smiling, and June smirks at me from over Pat's shoulder. "Well, it's a shame," he says, even though we both know that it's not a real shame at all, "but if that's the case, I'm going to ask to take June away from you again."

"Oh, God, take her! I lived in the same house with her for seventeen years, I can spare her for another few hours."

And we both laugh, because that's the polite thing, and they walk back to the dance floor, their arms around each other like they've been friends for years. Mom's going to have an absolute field day.

But with a little scavenging, I find out that she's gone, leaving with Mary hours ago to return to the house to annoy whatever's left of my father out of his wits. The car was left for June or me to drive the rest of the merry party home, Katie given the keys. (It's a miracle that she had the foresight _not_ to give them the Lynnie, thank goodness, or we would have had to walk.) Slowly, more and more people trickle out, but Katie and Lynn are determined to dance every dance until the DJ leaves. Because I don't have June on my side to coax them home, with her so enthralled in Carvell, I cross my arms and contemplate the remains of the snack table.

The flowers had died in their vases, wilting from the lack of water and the sweaty, awful atmosphere conducive to big dance halls. The last of the fruit is bruised or oxidizing, or both, and the once white tablecloth has become stained and tattered on the edges.

"It looks like Ms. Havisham's table," I say to no one in particular, though Sebastian is right behind me and I'm hoping to find yet another reason to disapprove of him before the night is out: a lack of literary understanding would be just the ticket. Also, I'm kind of upset that he has the nerve to be near me at all, because it kind of implies that he's gotten over my ploy and now intends to strike back. This only means that I need to return, once again, to the offensive, because God forbid I leave this party with a wounded ego and a battle lost to an asshole as enormous as Sebastian. Discreetly, I turn to see how he's reacted.

He's simply staring at me, a weird smirk on his face as if he considers me to be of half a mind. This is frustrating, because it's as though he thinks I'm mentally addled and that he's won this fight before it's even begun. Obviously _Great Expectations_ wasn't on this prat's high school reading list. Or it was, and he just chose not to read it.

"You're saying it wrong," he says, the smirk remaining on his face. Does he seriously think he can mock me like this?

"What?"

"You're saying it wrong," he repeats, and even though I'm predisposed to dislike this asshole (for obvious reasons), I realize that perhaps he's even worse that I originally thought. "You're saying it like Hey-vi-shame. It's _Havisham."_

"Well, la di dah, sorry I've offended you."

"You should be sorry," he says, gesturing toward the table in question as he steps closer to me, "you're blaspheming a literary great. Dickens took great care in naming his characters; you should at least have the decency to properly pronounce them."

"Maybe I'll leave it to Dickens to take it up with me, as opposed to snobbish partygoers who can't make simple conversation."

"I'm not being snobbish about it," Seb says simply, even though he definitely is, "I hardly think Dickens is a literary great at all. I was just trying to make simple conversation." I would think he was being clever if it wasn't for the fact that he has offended me to the deepest core of my being with that statement.

"Dickens?" I say in astonishment, "You don't think that _Dickens_ is a literary great?"

"Highly overrated," he says, and the pole stuck up his ass rams a further few inches. "People enthralled with him have little interest in actual literature and only wish to promote the appearance of being well read."

I scoff, shaking my head, "That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"It's the people who criticize Dickens who are the poseurs," I say, which I actually don't entirely agree with, but I sacrifice the conviction for the sake of the argument. "They're the people who read the surface, read for the plot, get nothing out of books. They don't see any subtlety. But Dickens is all subtlety, which is his genius. Something you, undoubtedly, missed."

Sebastian McCail looks completely nonplussed, and I can hardly hide my smirk of satisfaction. But just as I turn to march triumphantly away, June appears, tugging a red-faced Patrick behind her. Both are beaming, June's face looking like it's about to split in two, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I turn back around, knowing that I'll have to endure another ten minutes of babbling conversation with the Grin Twins and the surly Seb McCail.

"So," says Patrick, completely oblivious, "you two looked like you were getting along well." There's an infuriating glint in his eyes that I have the strong desire to correct, because it feels like he's suggesting that he can just pair us up and all four of us can ride off merrily into the sunset. Too bad Sebastian is awful and I'm not the sunset type.

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'getting along,' Pat," Seb says, and I decide that this is an appropriate moment to glare at him.

"Liz is very argumentative," June says, and then I decide that it's an even more appropriate moment to glare at _her._

"Ah, well, I've never heard that about anybody before," Pat says, smiling genially at his friend. I have no idea how someone so happy and agreeable could be friends with someone so purposefully antagonistic. I mean, June and I get along fine, but I'm hardly a surly asshole. Plus, we're sisters; it's kind of her obligation to deal with me. "What were you talking about, if I may dare ask?"

"_Great Expectations," _I say before Seb can, even taking a small step in front of him to reinforce my dominance in the topic.

"God, I hated that book," Pat says honestly, shaking his head. June still hasn't let go of his arm, and her closed-mouth smile in reaction to him is bordering on a simper. I decide that we're going to be in serious danger with this one. "It's too confusing."

"Don't tell that to Elizabeth, here, she'll bite your head off about it," Seb says, and the tone he uses almost implies that we're friendly.

"It's Liz, for one," I say, my tone contrasting his so heavily that it's not possible for there to be any doubt in our relationship, "and for two, don't put words in my mouth. I hate it when people put words in my mouth." I turn to Patrick. "Don't worry, Pat, I'm not going to bite your head off."

"That's a relief."

"Yes, well. I don't really care if people don't like it," I say, gesturing with my hands as I always do when I start to get to explaining a topic, "everyone has a right to dislike a book. It's just when people start treating the greats with irreverence that it starts to get to me," I say, glancing only for the briefest moment in Seb's direction. By ignoring him I prove my superiority, another brilliant lesson from Alice the Psych major. "The thing about great literature is that no matter your opinion on it, there is an aspect that makes it great. And maybe you don't agree with it, or like it, or understand it, but no matter who you are, you have to appreciate it."

Desperate to defend himself, Seb steps back toward me with an almost desperate, pained look on his face. "You're being ridiculous about such a thing, you couldn't possibly agree with—"

"Why not?" I ask, suddenly serene. "Just because you have never felt passion for a subject, no one else should be able to?"

"It's not a matter of passion," he starts, but his tone is calmer, the look on his face has changed. It's almost as though he's enjoying himself, or that he's become suddenly, honestly enthralled with our argument. Regardless, he's not allowed to finish his thought before Patrick interjects, clasping his hands together with a laugh that echoes over the slowly quieting music.

"Oh, Liz, you're delicious! No one's kept Sebastian on his toes like this for a while now."

My smile overtakes me as I look McCail full-on in the face and say, "did you hear that, June? I'm _delicious!"_ I probably wouldn't be this brazen if it wasn't two in the morning and Sebastian hadn't insulted me as thoroughly as he had. But it is, and he did, and sometimes a good bout of attitude and bitchiness is all someone needs to make them happy. "You know, it's funny that you say that, Ricky," I continue, my eyes still firmly on Seb as a smirk twists its way across my face. "I've heard some say that I appear… _undereducated."_

Patrick's smile falters, and Seb's mouth freezes in a stoic line, brow heavy. Hey, sorry, bud. Not my fault you didn't choose your words more carefully.

"I'm kidding, of course," I say quickly, dissolving awkwardness with a wave of my hand and smiling broadly. I can still feel Sebastian's eyes boring into the side of my head, but I ignore them. "People call me nerdy, if anything. Too smart for my own good."

This is sufficient for Patrick, who probably considers my word choice a happy accident, chalking it up as another unfortunate coincidence that peppers life. But it doesn't please Seb at all, and I'm glad for it. Glowering, he nods to the group and mutters an 'excuse me' under his breath before walking away.

He doesn't know that I notice, obviously, but I can see, even from afar, that his ears have gone red. "Don't mind Seb," Patrick says hastily, rescuing the conversation like a true gentleman, "he's just—"

"A killjoy," I interject, and he smiles in spite of himself. "Don't worry about it."

(+)

"Oh, my _God,"_ I say as I lean back into my bed at four in the morning, "I am going to sleep for _days."_

"If you're getting days, I'm allowed several weeks," June says, giggling in spite of herself.

"No, we can't do that," I say, staring up at the ceiling, "because if you're allowed weeks, Katie and Lynn would be allowed several _years,_ and…" I pause, drifting off, and come back with a tone that suggests that I've just had a brilliant idea. "Actually, June, you might be on to something."

She laughs, and I can hear her muffle it in her pillow. Always the portrait of dignity. I smile a little, just to myself, happy that we're finally back in this room together. "So, are you going to allow me my several weeks, or not?"

"It's your fault for dancing so much."

"Oh, Liz," she says, and if I didn't know how tired she was I would think that she was about to launch into a full-on rant about the merits and wonders of Patrick Carvell. "He's so perfect, and nice, and friendly. He wants to see some of my paintings, he couldn't _believe_ that I had made all of our dresses…" She interrupts herself with a yawn, and I hear her blankets rustle. "Do you think he likes me?"

This question is so ludicrous that I laugh out loud, but she waits patiently for my answer, regardless. "June, I can't believe we're still going through this." Ever since we were little and June was getting boyfriends on the playground she would ask me this question, and my answer is always the same. "I've never known anyone who _wasn't_ in love with you from the moment they met you, I swear to God. The boy couldn't have given you more attention if he tried. So _relax,_ he _more_ than likes you."

She laughs again, her giggles magnified by the hour and lovesickness. "I didn't expect much, you know. But he's so considerate, you should hear about all the wonderful things that he's done."

"I'm sure these things are much more fascinating to you than they are to me," I sigh, and I kick my blankets down to the foot of the bed to escape the heat. "Plus, you'll love anyone, so maybe I'll have to find a third party observer to get the truth about your little friend here."

"I don't love everyone!" And for a moment she actually sounds indignant over it, but in the settling silence I can tell that she's realizing that yes, she does. "I didn't like his friend, McCail whatever. I can't believe he would say such awful things about you."

"Sebastian?" I say, and I think I can see June nod through the darkness. "Yes, well," I pause to flick a speck off of my pillow, "I'm not going to worry about it. I doubt I'll ever speak to him again."

The heavy breathing from June's side of the room tells me that she's already asleep.

* * *

><p><em>Great Expectations references! You better love them as much as I do. Like them or not, let me know: press that button, drop me a line, talk to me and make the story less lonely. :) Update to come! Please you guys, don't make me do the whole "need five reviews to update" thing, I can see how many hits per chapter this is getting, please just humor me and tell me that you're reading.<em>


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